


History Maker

by louciferish



Series: Heroes on Ice [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Yuri!!! on Ice Fusion, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, figure skating AU, past Tim/Steph - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-02-28 12:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13271541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: When Tim was young, all he wanted to do was become a pairs figure skater alongside his best friend, Stephanie. Then, he saw Dick Grayson skate for the first time and his goals started to change. Though his career was cut short as a promising junior, he never gave up his daily practices. When he copies one of Grayson's routines years later, for Stephanie's eyes only, he's not expecting the storm it will unleash that will uproot his entire life.AKA the Yuri!!! on Ice AU that no one wanted





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Brief disclaimer: Everything I know about figure skating comes from Yuri On Ice and also a handful of wikipedia articles. If you see something that isn't accurate, please point it out to me and I'll attempt to correct it.

Steph has her towel over her head, vigorously scrunching at her blond hair to dry it as she steps out of the bathroom, so it isn’t until she pulls the edges of the towel out of her face that she notices there’s a guy sitting on her unmade bed. “What the fuck, Tim?” she screams, wrapping the towel around her naked body as Tim scrambles to cover his face with one of her throw pillows. “What the fuck are you doing in here?” She grabs the nearest small object - a hairbrush - and throws it as hard as she can. Its hits the kitten embroidered on the pillow directly in the face and bounces harmlessly onto the quilt.

Tim shouts something, muffled by the pillow at first, then turns his face to the side so she can hear him. “Sorry! I’m sorry. You weren’t at the front desk and the door to the rink was locked!”

“That’s because we’re _closed, Timothy_ ,” she shouts back. “It’s after nine o’clock! How the hell did you even get in here?” Tim extends one hand from behind his kitten pillow shield, index finger stretched to point toward the open bedroom window. Stephanie throws the comb at him too, but misses his hand.

“This is not how I imagined you seeing me naked for the first time,” she mutters to herself, shuffling past him to her chest of drawers to grab fresh underwear and pajamas, one hand clenched tightly in the towel to keep it in place above her chest while she rummages through her things.

“You imagined me seeing you naked?” She looks back over her shoulder. Tim’s lowered the pillow to his lap now and is frowning as if this is indeed brand new information. She picks up a small box and mimes throwing it at him just to watch him flinch, then turns back to her drawers, satisfied.

“We dated, you idiot, of course I thought about us getting naked. Didn’t you?” She takes the clothes to the bathroom and mostly closes the door to change, leaving only a couple of inches available to talk through. 

“I just wanted to get into the rink to practice,” Tim says, breezing right by her question of course. 

“Why?” Steph drops the towel on the bathroom floor and pulls her clothes on in record time. “Finally going to start getting ready for competition again?” She gives herself a once-over in the mirror, and aside from the tangled mess of her hair, finds herself looking half decent and more than a little sexy, even though it’s wasted on Tim. She pushes the door open and leans into the frame, observing coolly as Tim’s eyes flicker unsubtly over her Gotham University sweatshirt and leggings. She reaches for her comb, then remembers she threw it at Peeping Tim and crawls right past him on the bed to fumble through the blankets for it.

“Stephanie, come on. You never lock up this early.” Tim flops back onto her bed like he owns the shit - rude! She never even invited him in. He hasn’t been in her bedroom since they were in high school. “I have an exam tomorrow. I need to unwind.”

“Some people would try drinking,” she says, dragging the comb through her hair rapidly, then wincing as she hits a snag. “Or doing yoga, or reading a book, not tormenting their ex-girlfriends by skating circles around them at nine o’clock at night when other people might have exams too given that it’s _finals week_ , you selfish bastard.”

Stephanie stops combing as Tim sits up suddenly and seizes her free hand in both of his. “Please, Steph,” he’s giving her the deliberate puppy dog eyes. She knows it, and she’s not going to let him get away with it, even though they are a truly unreal shade of grey-blue, damn him. “It’s a Physics exam. I need to clear my head, and you know I think better when I’m moving.”

“Why can’t you pace your room like a normal human?” She twists her hand out of his so she can get away from his big dumb eyes, which she is maybe not as immune to as she wants him to think.

“I have something to show you,” Tim says - and again, the boy cannot answer a question. 

“If it’s your dick, I appreciate the offer, but you know I’m not interested anymore, right?” She watches the tips of his ears turn red, smirking. “On the other hand, it would only be fair after what _you_ just saw.”

“I wasn’t even looking,” he protests. His face is a little too red for that to be fully accurate. 

“Too bad,” she says. Tim looks away and doesn’t say anything. She follows his gaze to the signed poster on her wall, Dick Grayson in his last Junior program, captured in the middle of a spread eagle in his infamous little green pants. 

“You know, with each passing year it gets a little bit creepier that you have a poster of a fourteen year old on your wall,” Tim says quietly. Stephanie knows that isn’t what he was really thinking, but she lets it slide. 

“I like to think that Dick and I are both ageless,” she says breezily. “That way he’ll never retire. Besides, I’ll take it down when you take down your collection. And don’t try justify it by saying you took down the really old ones, because I know all you did was put them in a drawer. And none of yours are signed.” He doesn’t respond. Probably jealous. The silence stretches for a few long minutes, and she finally sighs and relents, asking, “What do you want to show me?”

Tim jumps up from the bed like his butt’s been spring-loaded. “You have to let me into the rink,” he says, still standing on his toes. “I need the ice.”

“Of course,” she says, levering herself off the bed and grabbing her keyring from the table by the door. “Of course you do.”

-

_Stephanie’s mom makes them a pallet on the living room floor to sleep on, right in front of the TV. She gets them settled in with popcorn and juice, and then helps them find the right channel. They nest into the blankets, backs against the couch, shoulders touching._

_They’ve watched every competition they can find televised since they were eight, dazzled by the costumes and the spins and the skaters. They’ve fallen asleep holding hands, whispering about how one day they’ll be on the TV too, competing as a pair of course. They’re a team._

_They only watch with half their attention on the Junior Worlds; it’s only a warm up to them for the main event in a few weeks, with the seniors. It’s just an excuse to have a party, and for Tim’s parents to have a party, and for his nanny to have the night off. They giggle, pretending to fight over a pillow. Tim grabs a handful of popcorn and throws it at Steph, and a couple pieces snag in her hair, but she doesn’t brush them off, her attention caught by the screen._

_That’s when Tim sees Richard Grayson skate for the first time, in his first Junior Worlds. He jumps higher, spins faster, lands more jumps than any junior skater Tim has ever seen. When he launches himself into a triple flip near the midpoint of his program, he looks like he’s flying. He’s young, the youngest kid competing, but it’s no shock to Tim when he medals, of course he medals. Next year, Tim realizes, he’ll probably win._

_The next morning, when they go down to the rink, Steph launches herself off the boards and tries out a spread eagle. “Hey, Tim, look at me,” she calls. “I’m that Grayson guy!” Tim finishes putting his skates on, and then chases her around the rink._

-

There’s a loud pop when Stephanie flips the light switch in the rink, but the fluorescent bulbs slowly flicker and hum to life all through the building. “No music, okay? My mom knows I’m supposed to be going to bed early tonight to get ready for this test, so I don’t want to wake her.”

“It’s fine,” Tim says, already lacing his skates up on the bench. “I don’t think I need the music.”

“Okay,” Steph says, hands on her hips. “But show me whatever it is you’ve gotta show me first, before you get sucked into your own head, because I’m already in these pajamas and I refuse to change back and skate with you until midnight or whatever. You can lock up yourself when you’re done.”

Tim looks up at her, blank stare. “Your pajamas look a lot like your workout clothes.”

It’s all the same drawer, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Pajamas,” she repeats firmly.

Tim finishes getting ready and waddles over to the rink entrance before gliding out onto the ice. He stops short in the center, and opens his arms out, stretching wide to each side. Steph, leaning into the boards, feels her breath catch in her throat. “Shut up,” she whispers in recognition. 

Tim spins away, oblivious to her commentary, building speed, sliding backwards briefly, then twisting forward again and launching himself into a combo - triple toe loop, then a single flip, double lutz. Steph can’t bear to watch it, but leans forward to see better. Of course, she knows what’s coming next - she’s seen this routine time and time again, although apparently not nearly as many times as Tim has.

She shakes her attention back onto the rink as Tim breezes past her, readies and launches the quad salchow - lands it! Of course. What an asshole. He slips into a spin, then skates out into a split jump that makes _her_ thighs feel the pull. It’s not fair. 

He downgrades the next combo, dropping the quad toe loop she expects to a triple, but that makes sense - Tim knows what he can land and what he can’t. It wouldn’t be like him at all to risk a jump he wasn’t going to get perfect. It still frustrates her, watching him skate through the step sequence portion of the routine flawlessly. He’s ruined her, and he’s ruined her rink.

He stops on a dime at the center of the rink again, head up, arms down and behind his back like folded wings. She waits, and after a moment of stillness marred only by his breathing, he finally relaxes the pose, looks up at her with a sly grin. “What’d you think?” He skates over to meet her. “I had to lower the difficulty on a couple jumps, and I know my free leg isn’t-”

She grabs his hair as soon as his head is in reach, feeling the gel crunch satisfyingly between her fingers. “I hate you. I hate you, Timothy Drake. You are _wasting_ your talent in college when you could be a World Champion is what I think, and you know that.”

“Steph,” he starts, expression gone dark. “You know why. My parents-” Stephanie throws her hands up, pleading with an unseen force somewhere in the ceiling. “I know you don’t think what they want is important, but I’m their only son! I can’t just leave them and run off to play Grayson on the ice with you forever.”

“Then why are you still playing?” She demands. “Why do you keep coming back? Why bother with practice?” Tim is still bad at answering questions. Steph goes back to bed.

-

_The next year, Stephanie’s mom lets them both tag along with her to Junior Nationals. There’s some older girl who practices at the Browns’ rink who qualified, if only barely, and Tim and Steph beg for weeks to go watch her in person. Steph’s mom probably knows why they’re really interested, but she says yes anyway, and that morning they load into the family van for the two hour drive from Gotham._

_They get delayed halfway into the trip, when Steph spills grape soda all over the front of her special white party dress. Tim’s pretty sure it was on purpose, but they have to stop at a store to buy her a sweater to wear over the stain. Last year they’d been able to borrow extra clothes from each other any time one of them forgot their bag at home, but now that they’re eleven Steph has shot up ahead of him, outgrowing everything and lording her superior height over Tim, who’s small even compared to the other boys in his class._

_Steph fumbles more on the ice now, though, unsure of her center in her fast-growing frame. Tim is passing her quickly when it comes to jumping reliably in practice. He doesn’t like it._

_When Mrs. Brown wants to rush into the arena, to avoid missing any of the performances, Tim and Steph beg her for money for a snack, giving them a chance to linger outside the rink and look for their idol. Steph, shameless, asks every security guard where the skaters are, and still passes for cute and innocent enough that a couple of them are actually helpful._

_Ten minutes later, Stephanie is squealing and waving a poster at Dick Grayson from across the hall._

_It happens so quick, Tim can barely even speak. Dick is there, smiles at them, signs the poster Steph brought, and then Tim realizes he has nothing- no camera, no poster. Tim can feel the frustrated tears burning at the edges of his vision, and then Dick bends down and pulls him into a hug and whispers, “Oh no. Don’t cry, little brother.”_

_Most of the competition is a blur to Tim after that, but of course Dick is brilliant. He soars, and just like Tim predicted, he wins. For a moment on the podium, Tim thinks maybe their eyes met, and Dick is waving right at him, holding the gold up for him like a beacon._

_“That’s going to be me,” Tim wants to tell Stephanie as they sit together in the back of the van on the way home, watching street lights flash past through the window. “I want to skate with him, by his side.” It’s the first time he’s really thought that he and Steph might not be a team forever; that he might, someday, compete on his own. He’s not ready to tell her that. He falls asleep listening to the sounds of the road beneath them._

-

Steph gets back from her exam at two o’clock and goes directly to the bar. 

“No minors,” the surly-looking bearded man behind the bar calls after her as always, and as always she ignores him, heading to the back of the room and sliding into the usual booth.

“You’re not going to believe what the idiot did to me last night,” she says, shoving her backpack into the wall.

“Hi, Stephanie,” Barbara says from the end of the table, not even looking up from her laptop, fingers still busy on the keys. “How was your CJ exam?”

“Stupid,” Stephanie mutters. “All that trouble memorizing Supreme Court case names and dates - I even made _flash cards_ , Babs - and the professor wound up giving us all those in the questions. On top of that, we only had to answer two of the five options instead of all five. I could have spent less time on that one and more time on Stats.”

“So you aced it?” Barbara finally pauses, peering up at her over the frames of her glasses.

“Yup,” Steph grins, slapping the table hard enough the cutlery rattles. The bartender yells something again. They ignore him. Babs goes back to typing away at something, so Steph sits and fiddles with the butter knives while she waits. 

Finally, the clacking of the keys stops for a moment and she has Barbara’s attention again. “So what did the idiot do last night?” Babs asks.

“Dick Grayson’s short program!” Barbara blinks at her, but Steph knows she’s aware of the routine. “This year’s program, that is. That asshole practically walked in on me in the shower,” Barbara blinks rapidly again, brain still processing, but Steph keeps barrelling along. “Then he dragged me down to the rink in my pajamas and skated a _gold medal_ program he’s apparently been practicing _perfectly_.”

“Perfectly?”

“Well, almost perfectly,” Steph has to admit. She steals a sip of Barbara’s water. “ He downgraded some jumps. Did you teach him that routine?”

Babs shakes her head. “He only comes to me for training maybe twice a week right now, and since he’s so insistent he’ll never skate again I’ve been pushing him toward dance and strength workouts more often. Did you see him practicing that program?” Stephanie shakes her head. “Well, you know what that means.” 

Steph gasps, putting one hand to her heart theatrically, “He’s been _cheating on us_.”

“Probably going to the hockey rink at Gotham U when no one’s looking,” Barbara scowls. “What a sneaky little asshole.”

“He used to meet me for lunch between classes Monday and Wednesday, but he quit a couple months ago,” Steph says, frowning down at the graffiti etched into the table, something about a red hood. “I bet he’s using the break to go sneak in practices.”

“And probably not eating lunch,” Babs finishes. She snaps the laptop shut and twists to stuff it into the backpack hanging on the back of her wheelchair. “Are the cameras I set up at the rink all still working?”

“Of course,” Stephanie grins, drumming her fingers on the table. “What are you thinking?”

“As Tim’s coach,” Barbara begins, rolling herself back from the table. “I believe you may have some footage I need to review.” 

-

Tim’s got his foot on the bench by his locker, bent across his knee to get his shoe back on and still totally preoccupied with thoughts about equations for velocity and the calculation of drag, when the first text comes in. His phone is next to his foot, so he notices the screen lighting up immediately.

 **Kon:** When do I get to see you do that in person, bro?

Tim frowns in confusion. He hasn’t talked to Kon in at least three months, and hasn’t seen him since the last time Kon had a competition in Gotham, which was over two years ago. Tim double checks the timestamp on the message, but it’s dated today. Maybe his phone is malfunctioning.

As he’s getting ready to text back and ask Kon if he’s got the wrong number, his phone vibrates again. He saves a draft and sees a new message from Bart, followed immediately by two more. 

**Bart:** OMG Tim why didn’t you TELL ME???

 **Bart:** You’re so cruel

 **Bart:** but I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU

Tim checks the date again. What on earth are they talking about? Why are all his friends suddenly on drugs? And how are they all managing to message him mere minutes before he has to sit a ridiculously difficult Physics final?

As he’s contemplating this, his phone starts to flash again and again, vibrating in his hand so much he starts to think there’s a possibility his friends will very literally blow up his phone. He types out a quick response to Bart, since he knows Bart is always the one who texts back promptly.

 **Tim:** What are you talking about?

 **Bart:** : UM YOUR COMEBACK, DUH

 **Bart:** How long have you been practicing this??

 **Bart:** https://vimeo.com/196484555

Tim clicks the link and sees… himself. It’s grainy as hell, a distant image of the Browns’ rink from a weird angle, an angle not unlike that of the security camera they installed above the locker room doors to help prevent theft. Over by the boards, he can barely make out the figure of Steph in her pajamas, watching. 

He rests his forehead against the cool metal of the nearest locker. It smells like foot sweat. He looks at the video again. It already has a couple thousand views. The Tim on the screen is doing a layback Ina Bauer. The Tim in the locker room smacks his head against the metal, then immediately regrets it. He has a final in five minutes. He’s going to have to run to make it on time.

 **Bart:** ???????

 **Tim:** Gotta go to class. Talk later.

Tim grabs his backpack and runs.

-

_It’s so cold out on the ice, Tim can see his own breath, but he can barely hear himself think over the applause, the voices. He knows he messed up. He fell on his first jump, the step sequence wasn’t precise enough, he couldn’t hold the spin for the last two seconds he’d planned to, but he made it, and the audience doesn’t seem to care._

_He puts his head down as he skates out of the rink, trying to avoid looking at the audience. But when he gets to the Kiss and Cry, there’s no missing what’s happening. Steph runs to him, hugs him tightly without regard for his bruises, and her mom is there smiling, ruffling his hair, but Jack and Janet Drake? They’re nowhere to be seen._

_Tim follows Mrs. Brown to the bench, holding onto Stephanie’s hand. The scores come in, and both of them gasp. There are only a couple skaters left after him, and he’s in second. He’s medaling. He’s going to make it to Nationals._

-

Business at the bar is starting to pick up by the time Tim shoves the door open. “No minors,” the bartender yells. He marches past the line of patrons on stools grumbling about the game and shoves his phone under Barbara’s nose.

“I got an 85,” he growls, shaking the screen at her. 

“Congratulations?” She raises one ginger eyebrow at him from behind her glasses, looking up from her laptop long enough to gently push his phone away from her. 

“I _should_ have gotten an A,” Tim says. “But I got points taken off for being late _and_ because my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing until I turned it off completely _and_ I’m pretty sure I bubbled in problem #8 as ‘B’ when the answer was actually ‘D’.”

“Sounds like you should have been studying last night instead of skating,” Steph says smugly, and he levels a finger at her in warning. She does not look warned.

Tim slides into the booth next to Steph, hip checking her out of his path, and rests his head in his hands. “Why? Why did you guys do this to me? Every skater or coach I’ve ever talked to has been trying to call or text me for the past three hours, asking if they’ll be seeing me at the qualifiers and if I’m competing as a junior or a senior.”

“That’s crazy,” Barbara says. Tim peeks at her between his fingers. “If you’re skating Dick Grayson’s gold medal routine you’d obviously destroy the juniors. It wouldn’t be fair to the younger kids.”

Tim groans, dropping his head to the table, and Stephanie gently pats his shoulder. “You guys don’t understand. Everyone I _know_ has seen this tape. What happens if my _parents_ see?”

“Then maybe they’ll realize that they’re depriving both you and the world of something amazing by keeping you off the ice,” Stephanie says, rubbing Tim’s back. He relaxes slightly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Barbara cuts in. “You know as well as I do they won’t even see it.” Tim groans again, tensing back up. “If they did, it would be the first time they ever saw Tim skate at all.”

“Don’t start this now,” Tim interrupts her. “ _Please_. Today has been tough enough without the rundown of ways my parents never loved me.” He raises his head and winces away from Steph’s sympathetic gaze, sighing. They all sit for a moment in silence, Tim staring at the worn, mutilated table top he’s getting to know so well.

“It’s been five years since my last competition,” Tim says quietly, tracing the shape of a stylized ‘S’ carved into the wood with his fingers. “I guess it is time to admit that you guys are right. It’s ridiculous for me to keep practicing so much if I’m not going to compete again.” 

The ladies are both staring at him when he looks up. “We’re right?” Stephanie sounds astonished. “Really? You mean you’ll go back to training?”

He shakes his head, then grabs his backpack and slides back out of the booth. “No, I mean if I’m going to give up, I have to actually give up.” He squares his shoulders, and meets Barbara’s eyes directly. “I’m sorry, coach. I guess I no longer need your services.”

“Tim,” Stephanie says, calling after his back. “Tim, wait!”

The bartender doesn’t try to stop him from leaving.

-

_The Drakes’ house is painfully silent. Tim is used to fights, used to running to his room, crying, burying his face into the pillows to hide the tears from no one, but this time no yelling follows him, and that’s worse. His parents aren’t fighting with each other about this; for once, they’re in agreement._

_Nationals are being held in Metropolis this year, and they’ve agreed to let him go compete, but their opinion of anything after that was clear. “There’s just no point to it,” his father had said, after calling Tim into his study to talk. “All this ice dancing stuff - it was a fun little activity when you were young, but you start high school soon. You need to get serious about your studies if you’re going to take over DI someday.”_

_“Frankly,” his mother added, looking more at the angle of her chin in the mirror than her son. “It’s a waste of money that could be going to your tuition at a better school. So let's wrap up these games and concentrate on getting into a good college, hm?”_

_Tim didn’t fight back. He never fights back. Of course they don’t want him skating. They were never proud of his skill, of his medals. He looks at the bronze that got him into Nationals, hanging on the corner of his mirror next to a poster of Dick Grayson, taken from the end of his senior debut. Tim still knows what he wants. But he also knows it doesn’t matter._

-

The main advantage to nepotism at this point in Tim’s life is that he gets a private office at Drake Industries even though he only works there part-time. There are interns downstairs who are five years older than him, have their degrees already, and share a cubicle. Tim has a sturdy walnut door that locks as well as partial custody of a secretary who keeps track of his calendar and runs interference with his parents as needed.

With his finals all wrapped up, Tim has nothing to do for the next few weeks but work, attend company meetings, and refresh the page where his final grades for the term will eventually be posted. Then, he’ll have to start preparing for summer courses if he wants to stick to his timeline and finish his MBA by the time he’s 22. 

He’s got his door closed and his feet up on his desk at the moment, watching videos on YouTube from Kon’s recent performance at the Grand Prix Final. He’d started the season strong, but finished fifth, which is typical for him - he has a lot of strength and endurance, but pushes himself too hard too early. Tim’s intercom buzzes.

“Sorry to bother you, Mister Tim,” his secretary’s voice is always squeaky, always flustered, so it's hard to tell if there’s a particular reason she sounds like she’s been running laps. “But there’s a guy out here who says he’s here to see you?”

Tim opens his desktop calendar. It’s blank. “I don’t have any appointments, do I?”

“I’m not sure, Mister Tim,” she whispers, still sounding frantic. “I don’t remember anything, but it’s been so busy, I guess I might have-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he cuts her off, pushing off from the desk to stand. “I’ll check it out.”

“Thanks, Mister Tim,” she says, audibly relieved, and the line goes dead.

Tim unlocks the door and opens it slowly. There’s a man standing in the lobby in a well-tailored black suit, slim and only a bit taller than Tim. He’s turned away, looking at the room around him, and Tim startles when he realizes he’s been staring at the guy’s butt. It’s a really incredible butt. He clears his throat, feeling the tips of his ears heat up. “Excuse me, can I help you?”

The guy turns around - his baby blue shirt fits as well as his pants, somewhat unbuttoned and showing the hollow of his neck. His tousled black hair crowns eyes already startlingly blue, but made more so by his choice of shirt. His grin is wide and unrestrained, and he is definitely, absolutely Dick Grayson, who is standing outside Tim’s office, and looking at Tim.

“Hi, Tim? I’m Dick,” He offers his hand for Tim to shake and Tim, without thinking, takes it. Neither of them shakes. “I saw your video online, and since I’m in the area I thought I’d throw my name in the hat to help you become the next World Champion!” Then he winked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim's fantasies from childhood are falling into his lap, but Tim has PRACTICAL CONCERNS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally planned second part would be a separate story, but it works better as a second chapter. I also planned to continue updating this story and the YOI half of the series simultaneously, but this has been done for 5 days, I'll be at a work thing all week, and I've still got at least 3k to go before part 2 of Shiftships is done.
> 
> Also, please let me know if any of the formatting seems weird. For some reason the uploader messed with my paragraphs this time.

In retrospect, Tim can’t even remember what the hell he said to Dick to get him out of the office - some excuse about work and professionalism and “We’ll talk later.” He gave Dick his _business card_ and pushed him out with a firm hand on his lower back, oh my god. This is worse than when he was eleven. At least eleven year olds don’t have business cards. Tim may have actually said the words, “I’ll have my people get in touch.” Where did he even learn that sentence?

He collapses back down in his desk chair, but he basically spends the next couple hours of his work day marking all his spam emails as read and occasionally groaning out loud when he spontaneously remembers that he just shoved Dick Grayson out of his office. Also, Grayson wanted to _coach_ him? He’s not a coach! He’s only twenty-two; he can’t be _retiring_.

At four o’clock, Tim finally gives up on focusing. It’s not like he really works at DI anyway - he basically just screws around in meetings and earns an allowance so he can pay Barbara some type of coaching fee. So he packs up his backpack, waves to the secretary on his way out, and heads straight to the bar to vent his frustrations.

The bartender makes a noise as he walks through the door, but seems to have given up on using actual words for now, which is fine with Tim. He always tips, even though he doesn’t ever buy anything, so he has no guilt. He heads straight to the back of the bar, already warming up for his rant as he approaches the table: “Okay, I don’t know what you two _thought_ would happen when you put up that video, but-”. He stops short. Barbara is at the end of the table with her laptop, Stephanie has her back to him on their usual bench, sipping on a soda, and across from her is, again, definitely Dick Grayson. Not only that, but he’s currently in the process of putting away a massive cheeseburger and fries.

Despite all of the many insane things going on in this room, the next thing out of Tim’s mouth is, “Wait, they serve food here?” Dick nods and hands Stephanie a french fry. She eats it, a french fry Dick Grayson had touched moments ago. She just _eats the french fry_.

Barbara pats Tim’s usual spot at the table, looking up at him over the rims of her glasses. Her hair is up in a ponytail, which means she’s focusing on something, something serious. “Glad you could join our war council, Tim. Come, sit.”  
Conditioned by years of following Barbara’s orders, Tim sits. 

He looks over at Stephanie, but she’s pretending to be very engrossed in the graffiti on the table. He looks up at Dick, who waggles his fingers at him, still looking ridiculously pretty with a mouthful of dubious bar cheeseburger. Then he offers Tim a french fry. Tim cannot. He finally turns to meet Barbara’s measuring gaze.

“Tim,” she shuts her laptop, lasering in on him entirely. “We’re going to keep things simple with some yes or no questions here, okay?” He nods, glancing quickly back over at Dick, who is indeed still at the table. “Do you still enjoy skating?” Tim nods. “Do you still practice nearly every day, even when you’re not meeting up with me at the rink?” Another nod. 

“How many hours a day are you practicing?” Tim hesitates, so she adds, “Just hold up the number of fingers.” He puts up two, then thinks about it and adds half his ring finger as well. Barbara sighs. “Is that an average?” Tim nods again. “Have you been doing this consistently for the past five years?” 

Tim doesn’t answer for a long moment, thinking, then finally says, “More or less, I guess.”

“That’s not yes or no,” Steph points out with a smirk. Tim glares back at her. If she’s not going to save him, the least she could do is not throw him under the bus.

“There’s not really a yes or no answer to that,” he points out, knowing he sounds bitter right now. “There have been times I practiced less in those five years, when I tried to do what my parents _actually_ expected me to do when they asked - told - me to stop competing.”

He looks around. All eyes at the table are now on him. Dick has put down his hamburger. Tim sighs. “But I suppose the answer is yes, for the most part I’ve been skating a couple hours a day, pretty much every day, for _five fucking years._ ” He puts his head down on the table. He can feel the air stir around his shoulders, like someone was going to touch him, but thought better of it. He groans.

“One last question,” Babs says in a measured tone. “Are you really going to give up this kind of opportunity to do something you obviously love? Because you know you won’t get a chance like this again if you turn Dick away now.”

“Appeals to my emotions, Babs?” Tim raises his eyebrows at her. “I expected more from you. You have to realize that there are practical considerations here as well, right? I barely pay you half the coaching fee you deserve for a couple days a week. How exactly am I expected to pay for daily coaching with a five-time World Champion without my parents noticing that something is up?” Stephanie starts to open her mouth, but Tim cuts her off. “Before you make a comment about how little they notice me in general, please remember we are now talking about their bank balance here.” Steph’s shoulders slump. 

Dick puts his french fry down and steeples his fingers under his chin in consideration. “I’ve actually been thinking about this already. I was talking with Babs before you got here, and I think we might be able to works out a trade.”  
He tilts his head at Barbara, smiling fondly. “I know how she likes to keep her secrets, so I don’t know if you guys realize that the two of us used to be rink mates.”

Tim and Steph’s eyes widen. Tim starts to see his life flash before his eyes, a highlight reel of all the times he blathered on about Dick in front of Barbara, or Stephanie made dirty jokes and brought up his poster collection. His stomach clenches up and does a quadruple flip. He’d seen Barbara’s old routines, of course, but he’d never really put it together. He certainly doesn’t remember Bruce Wayne ever showing up in the Kiss and Cry with her.

“It’s true,” Barbara says reluctantly, looking almost embarrassed. “Officially, my dad was my coach throughout my career, but you guys have met my father - you know he’s no skater. Bruce took me on part time right as I got ready to move from the junior division to seniors. I never would have been competitive without it.”

“We only got to train together for a couple years,” Dick adds, all media-friendly boyish grins and floppy hair. “But I remember it _very_ fondly.”

“You were obnoxious,” Barbara says, pointing at him and rolling her eyes. “Like every other fifteen year old boy only with twice as much energy.”

“She basically broke my heart.” Dick winks at Tim. “But, anyway, we’re adults now, right?” The look Babs gives him indicates she is, at best, dubious. “That’s why I know exactly what your sometime-coach here is capable of, and I got this perfect idea of how we can work out a fair trade of services.”

He takes a deep breath, flipping his hair back out of his eyes. “Babs, just punch me if I say anything wrong, okay? But you can’t get onto the ice to demonstrate when you teach. How do you usually handle that?”

Barbara looks uncomfortable with the line of questioning, but she answers, “I use a lot of video demonstrations if I have to with the skaters right now. I hired one of my former ballet students to assist me with the dance classes and perform my choreography, but I lost my last real skating assistant to a ‘real job’ last year. Stephanie fills in when she’s not at school.” Steph wiggles her fingers at Dick, as if he might have forgotten who she is.

“Well, I think we can help each other.” Dick leans back, looking around the table at each of them in turn. “Bruce has this skater at our rink right now who’s been training with him a couple year. She’s incredible, but also intense. She came here on a visa to train, but then applied for asylum. It’s legit, but she can’t compete as long as her citizenship is tied up with these disputes, and she’s getting bored just lurking around the rink all the time.” He shrugs. “Can’t blame her. Bruce has been struggling to keep her occupied, but he’s reluctant to have her coaching because she’s… a little rough on the communication skills.”

“So you want me to what, babysit?” Barbara snorts. “Use my own students as guinea pigs instead of Bruce’s? No, thanks.”

“I think you guys could work well together. If you can’t crack her nut, I don’t know who can. You’ll have to find her a place to stay, bring her on like you would any other assistant, but if you can make it work, I’ll waive my coaching fees.” He drags the last soggy fry through a puddle of ketchup and pops it in his mouth to punctuate the statement.

“That’s not really fair to Barbara,” Stephanie interjects. “What if the girl sucks balls at teaching? What if the students hate her and we both lose income over it? Also, we have to pay for an apartment _and_ pay her a salary?”

“It’s actually not a bad deal,” Babs muses, waving Stephanie off. “Considering what Dick could charge anyone else for coaching and choreography. She can stay at the dance studio with me, and if it’s not going to work out we can make something else work.” She shrugs, ignoring Steph’s open mouth, and extends a hand for Dick to shake. “If it gets Tim back on the ice in public, I’ll gladly take the deal.”

“I feel like I just sold my soul,” Tim says, watching their hands meet across the table. “Except that no one is actually shaking _my_ hand on it.” Expressing this turns out to be a mistake, as Stephanie immediately starts shaking his hand, and then Babs takes his other hand, and then Steph takes Dick’s hand, and they all start this elaborate, ridiculous hand-shaking pattern where everyone is touching everyone else.

Somehow, it ends with Steph and Babs shaking hands straight-faced while Dick has both of Tim’s hands in his at once. Tim stares, feeling his face heating up, and drops both Dick’s hands as if he’s been scalded. 

“You guys are going to practice at my rink, right?” Stephanie is trying not to look or sound too eager, but Tim knows how important the rink is to her. “I need that sweet, sweet PR. ‘World Champion Dick Grayson now skating at local Gotham rink owned by Brown family.’”

Dick and Babs exchange a look that doesn’t seem like it bodes well for Stephanie’s plans. “Well, I don’t know,” he says. “I live in Bludhaven now. It’s kind of a long commute for me.”

“But Tim lives here,” Barbara counters. “And I know for a fact you skate at Bruce’s rink here in town all the time still. You’re going to make Tim commute to Bludhaven every day so you can sleep a little later?”

“I lived with Bruce when I was training,” Dick says, absently stirring his ice water with the straw as if it needed mixing. No one mentions the obvious - that Dick had nowhere else to go at the time. Instead, they wait until he continues, “I still usually stay at his place when I visit Gotham, but we’re a bit far from Bruce’s house in this part of Gotham.”

Of course they are. This is the bad part of town, and everyone at the table knows it. Bruce Wayne is an Old Money heir with a ridiculous fortune and a mansion on the historically rich side of town. The Drakes are new money who wanted to build a big house and did it where it was cheap. Families like Tim’s don’t live in Bruce Wayne’s neighborhood, and certainly not families like Steph’s. There’s a tension in the room at the sentiment that Tim can feel crouching behind the table, ready to overwhelm them at the slightest hint of an issue.

“Move in with Tim,” Stephanie says suddenly, cutting through the thick air with ease. “His place has like, a ton of spare rooms. Don’t you guys have a servant's quarters with a kitchen and shit too?”

“My place,” Tim squeaks, quickly edging toward hysteria. “My place by which you mean _my parents’_ house? My parents who don’t want me skating at all? My parents who demanded I quit my ‘silly hobby’ forever five years ago?” He does not add that the servant’s quarters was last occupied by his childhood nanny, and the weird layer _that_ would add to Dick Grayson living there, but it’s there, in his brain, mocking him.

“Where are your parents now Tim?” Barbara asks, almost managing to sound like she actually cares.

Tim pauses for a long moment, but everyone is looking at him. “Sydney,” he says finally.

“And what’s their next stop this summer?”

“London,” he sighs, putting his head down on the table. “For a month.”

“It’s settled, then. Bruce’s mystery skater can move in with Barbara, and then Dick moves in with Tim at his place, and then we all get to practice together at my rink!” Tim doesn’t need to look at Barbara to know she’s smirking. Steph hisses a “yesss” and punches the air in triumph. They all resume the hand-shaking orgy, this time over Tim’s body, still lying prone across the table.

Tim mutters into the flesh of his upper arm, even though he knows none of them can hear him.

Steph says, “What was that, Tim? You know no one can hear you when you mumble.”

He lifts up his head from the table. “I _said_ , I’m glad you worked out all the practical concerns, but I haven’t actually agreed to do this!” He looks down at his hands, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. “Of course, I want to,” he adds quickly. “Of course, this means, um, _everything_ to me. But it's still explicitly breaking a promise I made to my parents and… I don’t make many of those. I don’t know if I can do that. I don’t know how you can even ask me to.”

He grabs his backpack and shrugs off Stephanie’s hand on his arm to stand, still not looking at them. “I’ll think about it, okay? That’s all I can do right now.” He walks out, tensing as he passed through the door to the street, knowing that Steph has a tendency to chase him. She never lets him just walk away from a fight.

Sure enough, he feels the expected weight of a hand on his shoulder as he turns up the road back toward home. He stops and sighs, turning back reluctantly, “Steph, I-”

But it’s not Steph, of course, it’s Dick. This is like, the third time today that Tim has found himself face to face with surprise Dick Grayson, and yet his brain is still short-circuiting every time. It’s going to be a problem if they’re going to be working together, which obviously they are not. Tim stands perfectly still, waiting for another plea, or an order, or for Dick to just give up and announce he’s leaving and storm out like the bratty celebrity he could be, having been deprived of the new toy he came here for.  
Instead, Dick shoves his hair back out of his eyes with one hand, huffing softly, and says, “Tim, hey, I’m sorry about all that.”

Tim blinks and then frowns, uncertain as to when he stepped off the firm ground and onto this moving platform. “Sorry about what exactly?”

“I really got ahead of myself,” Dick explains, and now he’s the one not meeting Tim’s eyes. “I do that a lot.” 

“But when I saw that video of you skating my routine, I just couldn’t look away. I had to look you up, try to dig up any other videos, preferably ones with better picture quality.” His lip quirks slightly at some inner amusement, head tilted to look at Tim almost shyly despite his advantages in both height and age. “When all I could find were a couple old videos from your Junior routines and pictures of you as a novice, it made the version of you I just saw seem even more incredible, even unreal.”

Tim starts to protest, but Dick reaches back out and places his hand on Tim’s shoulder once more. “Believe me when I say that I understand how it feels to want to do anything, even something you hate, if it means you’ll make your parents proud.” Tim looks down at his stomach to make sure he’s not bleeding after that stab in the gut, but his clothes are intact. “When I came here looking for you, I thought you were just waiting for me to grab you and pull you out. I imagined you’d basically just jump to do whatever I asked. I wasn’t considering why you might have decided to leave competitions.”

His hand falls away from Tim’s shoulder, and they finally lock eyes, unflinching blue on blue, a gulf of less than two feet of air between them. “I just wanted to make sure I got to tell you before I left how amazing you are, and that I hope even if you never compete again you never, ever give up on the ice.” He reaches out and ruffles Tim’s hair briefly, then turns, pulling a key fob from his pocket. The tail lights of a bright blue sports car parked on the street beside them flash as the car unlocks.

As Dick moves to get in the car, Tim finds himself struggling, willing his tongue to find words to respond to the moment. Just as the car door opens, he finally hears his own voice calling out, “Hey!” Dick turns around again, half caught in the car.  
“I’m going to do it,” Tim says.

Dick’s eyes widen, and he steps away, slamming the car door, to head back toward Tim. “Excuse me, what?” 

Tim spreads his hands, helplessly. “You convinced me. I’m going to do it.” After all, how could he do anything else? His idol wants to train him. The man he’s admired since childhood has just called him ‘incredible’. What else would Tim possibly do? It seems less like a swing decision and more like an acceptance of the inevitable, a choice as certain as breathing.

Before he can blink, Dick’s grabbed him, pinning his arms to his sides and swinging him around in a terrifying hug. Just as suddenly, he sets Tim back onto the sidewalk, then buries his face in his hair. “Oh, Tim. You are not going to regret this.”

Tim, face crushed into his idol’s neck and suddenly inhaling lungfuls of his aftershave, already does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is now a second part to this series, [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13548453)!

**Author's Note:**

> I had the idea for this story about six months ago, playing around with the idea of a figure skating AU featuring the Robins. I quickly realized that it mapped pretty well into a Yuri On Ice AU, but I saw this as mostly a funny idea because, well, I hadn't actually watched Yuri On Ice.
> 
> When I finally saw the series last month, I thought of this again, and suddenly had the idea to not only write it, but to pair it with a second story in reverse: writing the characters from YOI as vigilante superheroes. Thus, I fell into a rabbit hole.
> 
> Took me about 3 weeks to write both stories, and there will be more - there is already more plotted - but in case I get caught up in work again or something I wanted to upload each story as part in a series instead of chapters, so they don't languish in WIP land forever. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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